Foolish
by MildlyInsane
Summary: Young Tonto leads Cavendish and Cole to the place where the river begins. Tonto quickly discovers that his trust has been misplaced when the two white men turn on him. They don't want anyone else to know the silver mine exists, and that means Tonto too.
1. Chapter 1

_**Foolish: Young Tonto leads Cavendish and Cole to the place where the river begins. Tonto quickly discovers that his trust has been misplaced when the two white men turn on him. They don't want anyone else to know the silver mine exists, and that means Tonto too. **_

_**xxxxxx xxxxxx**_

Young Tonto smiled as he swung the pocket watch back up into his hand. He'd never seen anything so amazing in his life. Inside the strange, circular contraption were tiny arrows that moved in a steady circle around the flat white surface under the transparent glass that protected it. It was so strange and mesmerizing... And all he had to trade for it was the location of the beginning of a river.

The two men he had brought to the river's start were named Butch Cavendish and Latham Cole. They were white men he had rescued from near death and whom his tribe had nursed back to health. They seemed friendly, and Tonto felt good about having rescued them. Some of the elders in his tribe had seemed uneasy when the young boy had brought these injured men home, but just leaving them to die didn't feel right to him. Maybe some white men were bad, but that didn't mean they all were... To leave them to die because of what other white men had done in the past wouldn't have been fair.

His elders had been very reluctant to allow the strangers to stay, but they too found it impossible to turn away the injured while they were right there on the doorstep. They warned Tonto to stay away from white men in the future, to not get involved if he ever ran into ay more later on, and to stay away from these particular white men during their stay with the Comanche tribe. Tonto was not to speak with them or even go near them if he could avoid it.

But with everyone else being weary of the newcomers too, they sought to speak to Tonto, the only one who really seemed interested in them. Whenever Cavendish or Cole spoke with any of the other tribesmen, they would keep their conversation short, partially because of the language barrier, but mostly because they were all reluctant to give these men any information that could be used against them. The young boy was the only one who actually wanted to talk to them, so they took advantage of that.

Whenever they had a question, it was Tonto who they'd ask, and he was usually not very reluctant to answer to the best of his abilities, so long as they had something to offer him as a trade for his answers. At first it was small things they traded, such as sweets, but when the questions seemed bigger, so did their rewards. Eventually they had offered the pocket watch, a thing Tonto had been eying from the start. He had even contemplated trading them for it before they woke up the first day he had found them. They wanted to know where the silver stones in the river had come from. At first Tonto wouldn't answer. The river was very important to his tribe. He wasn't sure how these men could use knowledge of the river's origin against them, but he was still reluctant to give that information up. The men seemed trustworthy and hadn't done anything to harm anyone in the tribe thus far... So when they offered him the watch, he went against the elders' judgements, and his own better judgement, and gave up the information.

And here they were now, Tonto, smiling down at the shiny object in his hand, and the two white men, Cavendish and Cole plucking stones up and filling their saddle bags with them. As far as Tonto was concerned, he had been right. His elders had been wrong. These men were good men. They offered him a good trade. A lovely piece of magical jewelry in exchange for some rocks. Tonto could have as many of those rocks as he wanted, whenever he wanted them. They didn't do anything special... But these men had given him the watch for the rocks anyway, regardless of how unbalanced the trade had seemed to Tonto.

Now he was simply waiting for the men to finish up so he could lead them back home. The white men would stay with the Comanche one last night before setting off back to their own homes in the morning. They had told Tonto they could find their own way back, but he had insisted on staying anyway. He didn't want them to get lost. He was certain he knew the land much better than they did.

Tonto swung the watch by its chain once again, failing to catch it in his other hand this time. He swung it up again, and one more time until he caught it successfully. One of the men had swung it up and caught it every time, so effortlessly. Tonto hoped he could learn to do that too.

With the smooth watch in his hand, Tonto looked up at the men across the river. Cole placed one last stone in his saddle bag and clamped it shut. He and Cavendish were whispering about something. They glanced over at Tonto and then back at each other and continued whispering.

The boy wondered why the men felt the need to whisper. Tonto could barely understand any of their words anyway. Nevertheless, he still wondered what they were saying. The whispering implied it was something secret, something he wasn't supposed to hear. He likely wouldn't have followed the conversation anyway, but why keep it secret? He frowned as he stared across the shallow river at the whispering men.

Cavendish glanced at him again, offering a slight smile before turning back to Cole and continuing to whisper.

Tonto smiled as well. Surely they weren't talking about anything sinister. Cavendish wouldn't have smiled if he were planning anything harmful.

Finally, the two men started back toward the young boy. Leading their horses across the the shallow current, their boots splashed as they made their way to where Tonto stood. Once they were near him, they stopped and began speaking to each other again.

"Stupid kid," Cole shook his head but smiled. Tonto couldn't understand him. He smiled back.

"Come," Tonto offered, gesturing for the men to follow. He didn't know many English words, but knew enough to communicate with minimal difficultly with these men, as long as both parties kept their requests and answers simple.

"Not so fast," Cavendish interrupted, reaching out and grabbing the boy's upper arm.

Tonto frowned and pulled his arm back away from the man's grip, "come," he offered again, in a more stern voice.

Cole laughed, "Why don't we just leave him here, Butch," he spoke to the other man, "we don't need to kill all of them, right? Who's he gonna tell about the silver? No one's out here, and he barely even knows how to talk anyway. We can let one little kid go, can't we? He's just one harmless kid..."

"He told us, didn't he?" Cavendish glared at his companion, "some other guy with a cheap watch comes by, he'll tell him everything too. Kid doesn't have any concept of what's valuable. I don't want the whole country knowin' about this place."

Tonto stood still and watched the two men argue. He could only pick out a few words of what they were saying. They spoke too quickly for him to make any sense of it.

"Well, how do you want to kill him then?" Cole asked, "I don't know about you, but I don't really like killing kids..."

The boy swallowed a lump in his throat as he looked nervously up at them. It seemed the two men were talking about killing something. That didn't sound good... But surely they wouldn't talk about murder right in front of him. Were they arguing about catching an animal for dinner, about who would go hunting?

"You eat," Tonto tried to explain. English was too new to him. He didn't want these men wasting their time arguing over something his tribe had already sorted out though, "Comanche home," he finally settled on which words to use to best convey his message. He thought the men had already understood that they were welcome to stay for one last meal, but maybe they hadn't understood as well as they had seemed to.

Cavendish laughed this time, as he looked right at Tonto. He seemed to still be talking to Cole though, not the the young boy whose eyes met his. His words were too rushed for them to be directed at the boy. They always spoke slowly when talking to him, "well, there's no use wasting bullets on him. We'll need as many as we can get to take down the rest of them. He's just a kid. We can kill him easy."

"You do it," Cole sighed.

Tonto understood that. Cole wanted Cavendish to do something... He just didn't know what that something was.

He didn't have to wonder for long. Out of nowhere, Cavendish balled his hand into a fist and took a swing at Tonto, seemingly aiming right for his eye.

The boy gasped and jumped back. Why would this man wish to hit him? Everything had seemed to be going well up until this point... Tonto stared with wide eyes up at his aggressor as the man drew his fist back again.

Tonto ducked down with a yelp as Cavendish swung at him and missed again.

"Hold still," the man ordered.

Tonto breathed heavily as he stared from one man to the next. Cole just stood by, not making any move to help either Tonto or Cavendish. His facial expression didn't look sinister, but it didn't look sympathetic either. He didn't want to hurt Tonto, but he didn't want to help him either. His expression instead just showed cold indifference. While Tonto was busy staring at Cole with pleading , questioning eyes, Cavendish finally landed his punch, hitting Tonto right under his eye and causing him to stagger backwards.

The young boy brought his hand up to his face where he had been hit. His cheek ached, but he had bigger things to worry about still. Cavendish wasn't through with him just yet. Another blow hit the boy's stomach. Tonto stumbled back further, his feet tripping up on a large stone. He fell backwards, hitting his head in the process, and soon found his attacker right on top of him.

His vision spun as he tried to blink away the pain in the back of his head, but he had to fight back. He still held onto the pocket watch Cole had given him. It was his only resource at the moment. Holding onto the watch with a tight grip, he swung the chain up so that it smacked Cavendish hard right in the face.

A low growl emitted from his attacker's throat as he grabbed for the watch. He snatched it away and tossed it aside. Now his glaring eyes looked even more angry as he hovered over his prey.

None of Tonto's tribe knew where he was... He hadn't told anyone because he had assumed they wouldn't approve of him telling these men about the river... No one would know where to look for him...

Even though he knew no one would hear him, Tonto screamed for help anyway. At first he was just yelling, not even forming words. He then directed his pleas back at the white men, "haamee!" he pleaded, looking up at the man on top of him. He looked over his attacker's shoulder at Cole, surely he had some sympathy. Who would be okay with watching someone be killed for no reason? "haamee..." he pleaded again, to Cole. Tonto was pleading with them in his own language, since he couldn't find the right word in English. But his attacker didn't care. Cole didn't care. Cavendish grabbed Tonto's wrists in only one of his large hands. With his other hand, he hit Tonto again, the same place on his ribs as he had before.

Tonto could feel tears in his eyes. His body hurt and he was more frightened than he had ever been at any other time in his life. He started screaming again. It was his only defense. He only hoped someone would hear him and come to his aid, but he knew no one from his tribe had any reason to be anywhere near here... He knew his screams would be heard by only the white men. Regardless, he screamed and screamed until a large stifling hand stopped him.

"Shut up," Cavendish growled, pushing his hand down roughly against the boy's lips.

Tonto cried out a muffled whimper as the back of his head was pressed roughly against the stones. He somehow pulled his hands out of his aggressor's grip. Cavendish proceeded to hit Tonto again, knocking the breath right out of his lungs. Tonto winced under the stifling hand and grasped at the arms of his attacker, trying with futility to free himself from their harsh grip.

"Hurry it up," Cole suggested from somewhere behind Cavendish. Tonto couldn't even begin to try to understand his words. Trying to translate between languages was hard enough when he wasn't being attacked. Nevertheless, the boy tried to look over Cavendish's shoulder at the other man. Maybe Cole would have a change of heart and help him...

It wasn't long before the man pinning Tonto to the ground moved his hands to the boy's throat, wrapping his fingers around his neck and squeezing.

Tonto choked out a pained gasp as he feebly moved his own hands up to meet his attacker's. He scratched at the fingers cutting off his oxygen supply, trying desperately to pry them off of him. He tried to offer some sort of plea, even if it wouldn't be in a language his attacker would understand. But his words could not escape his throat, just as oxygen couldn't make its way in.

His attacker squeezed his hands harder, even shaking the boy slightly as he continued keeping Tonto from breathing.

Everything in Tonto's mind told him he needed to breathe, and he needed to breathe soon before he would never get the chance again. Yet try as he might, he couldn't force his throat to open as the rough hands squeezed and squeezed.

It didn't take long for Tonto's vision to start growing cloudy. The sounds of his own choked gasps and the taunting sounds of Cavendish's heavy breathing soon began to fade out as well. The boy let his grasping hands fall to the ground next to his body as they refused to fight any longer. This was going to be the end for him. He'd trusted the wrong men, and it would cost him his life. His elders had been right. He had been a fool.

He felt his body relax as everything around him turned to complete silence and darkness.

_**xxxxxx xxxxxx**_

_**Since Tonto's English isn't great even in "present day" I figured it would be far worse when he's a child, so I wrote him as barely able to comprehend the English language at all. I thought that would be realistic. He could still communicate with these men by gestures and small words and phrases. **_

_**The Comanche word "haamee" means "please." I found that on some online page and didn't check it for accuracy... If it's wrong, I apologize.**_

_**Also, I think the film sort of implied that Cavendish and Cole didn't harm Tonto when he was a child. He seemed to wander back into his village completely surprised by what had happened, but I thought it was unlikely they'd just leave him alive on purpose... If they didn't want anyone else knowing about the silver, they wouldn't have wanted Tonto staying around. He's the one who traded the information for a cheap trinket, after all, so it wouldn't be far fetched to assume he might tell some other man who offered him a good trade for the same information. Therefore I thought it would make sense for them to have tried to kill him too. I might write a second chapter about Tonto going back to his home and finding his massacred tribe and blackbird... I'm not sure yet.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you to those who read and especially to those who reviewed my previous chapter. I hope you like this one as well:  
**_

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Darkness and silence slowly transitioned into daylight and the sound of running water as Tonto's eyes fluttered open. It took him a moment to remember what had happened, and to understand why he was waking up here on a hard bed of stones instead of on the soft comfort of his bed in his home at his village.

Groaning in pain, the boy blinked a few times and just stared up at the clouds for a moment. They passed by slowly and calmly, as though the whole earth was oblivious to what had just transpired. Was he dead? He winced. No. Of course he wasn't. He wouldn't be in so much pain if he were dead. The back of his head hurt where the sharp rocks were pressing roughly against him. His back hurt too, for the same reason. His throat burned when he tried to swallow and he felt like his limbs were weighed down with sand bags. In fact, his whole body hurt. He wondered if he would be capable of moving...

With a small whimper, he finally moved his hand up to his forehead and forced himself to sit up. With his trembling fingertips, he moved his hand over his long, black hair and felt the back of his head. Within the matted strands of hair his fingers were met with the sticky feeling of half-dried blood. Fortunately it wasn't enough blood to make him worried for his life. Whatever cut was there was almost dried up by now. The injury wasn't significant.

He brought his hand to his throat next, running his fingers over the skin which was almost certainly bruised. He wasn't sure what he was feeling for. Any injuries there were probably internal, or in the form of bruises, which he wouldn't be able to detect with his fingers. Touching them did make his throat hurt more though, so he supposed feeling the area with his hands did give him some information about the extent of his injuries. In addition to the painful bruises on his neck, his throat felt scratchy and he had noticed before that his own whimpering cries had sounded more broken than his ordinary voice.

Tonto looked around himself. The men he had brought here were gone. So were the two horses they had taken with them in order to reach the river's start more quickly than walking. They were horses belonging to the Comanche tribe. Horses Tonto had taken without permission... And now they were gone. His father was going to be so angry. The entire tribe was going to be angry. They had told him not to talk to these men. They had warned him the strangers were not to be trusted... but Tonto hadn't listened. He was taken in by the foreign items they had to trade him for what he felt was worthless information. And now two of their horses were gone and Tonto was hurt.

He supposed when the two men had asked him to go ahead and go home without them they were planning on taking the horses and leaving. They hadn't wanted Tonto to be around to see them start heading off in the wrong direction and try to stop them from taking the horses. Maybe Tonto should have left when they asked him to. Maybe then he wouldn't be hurt. But then, he didn't know if he'd feel any better about the situation if he had gone back to his tribe when they had told him to. Going back would have still meant having to explain why the horses were gone. At least this way he had fought back. He had tried to save the horses. Maybe that would earn him more respect from his tribe. They'd be angry at him for trusting the men who had then betrayed him, but forgiving because Tonto had been brave and had fought in defense of his tribe's best interest.

He frowned. He wished he had expected the white men to turn on him. He had been completely unprepared. They had caught him entirely off guard. If he had anticipated it, as he was certain his father would have if he had been in Tonto's place, maybe he would have fought them off. He would have saved the horses and could have returned to the tribe to tell stories of his brave heroics. But now he had to return as a failure, a failure who had cost his tribe valuable resources.

There would be no hiding his injuries. His voice was cracked and his skin would most surely bear the angry dark marks made by Cavendish's rough hands. He wondered what his punishment might be once he returned home. If not for the missing horses, he'd have probably just stayed away from the village for a few days. But since he would have to answer for the horses anyway, he figured he might as well go back sooner rather than later and have the healer take a look at him.

Crawling on his hands and knees, Tonto made his way over to the stream. Just before he reached the water, his fingers touched something cold and metallic. He looked down. It was the pocket watch. It was opened up so that he could see the ticking clock hands... except they weren't ticking now. The watch was half-submerged in a small puddle of water and was a little scuffed up. Whatever had been making the arrows move had stopped working its magic.

Tonto frowned, closed the watch and tucked it into his belt. He crawled a little closer to the stream and cupped his hands in the water. He brought the cool liquid up to his mouth and took a few slow sips. Even drinking water was painful. The boy shook his head and fought to keep back tears. His father was going to be so furious that Tonto had let this happen...

Finally, he forced himself to stand on shaking legs. He needed to get back home. As much as he dreaded the anger his tribe would probably have toward him due to his foolishness, he also knew he needed to face them. To warn them that the white men were not as kind as they seemed, to own up to his mistake, and to see the healer. It wouldn't be an entirely pleasant reunion, but it was a reunion that had to be held. The sooner he returned, the sooner his body could begin to heal, and the sooner his tribe could begin to forgive him.

Breathing in and out slowly, Tonto began the long walk back to his village...

... ... ... ...

Tonto knew something was wrong long before he actually reached his home. Ordinarily he would have heard so many sounds prior seeing anyone or anything to do with the village. He would hear the children laughing and the men and women talking. But not today. There were no sounds. Only the sound of wind and the bubbling of the river. It was discouraging, but he remained hopeful. Surely they hadn't uprooted the houses and left without him... His tribe moved around, but they wouldn't have left him, would they?

He quickened his pace until the village was within view. But it didn't appear how he had hoped it would. Something was on fire. In fact, several things were on fire, and they weren't in the right places to have been the ordinary fire pits used for outdoor cooking...

The boy quickened his pace even more. It was some of the houses that were the sources of the fires. He sucked in his breath as he slowed his pace. He wasn't in so much of a hurry to arrive now. No one was up and walking around. He could see lumps of fabric near the houses... Were they his tribe members? Did he even want to approach the village and learn what had happened?

With much fear in his heart, he took slow steps forward until he was right at the edge of his village. The lumps he had seen in the distance were in fact the fallen forms of his family and friends, strewn across the ground. The bodies lay everywhere, some in pools of their own blood. Some were laying half-way in the river, as though they had tried to run away, but had failed... He wondered if anyone had indeed escaped. It didn't look promising. Several of the houses were still on fire, and the rest were smouldering skeletons.

Tonto fought the urge to fall to his knees and weep. What was he meant to do now? His entire tribe was gone... His family, his friends... everyone. And it was all his fault. It now dawned on him that Cavendish and Cole hadn't just been after the horses. They had killed Tonto's entire tribe. It seemed now they hadn't just been trying to incapacitate him for long enough to steal the horses... They had meant to kill him. He sniffed back tears and stared out over the wreck that had been his home.

He wasn't sure what he should do at this point, so he just paced around the village, looking at the destruction the strange men he had foolishly trusted had inflicted upon his home and his people. The entire village was in ruin. The men had not only killed everyone, but had destroyed their homes and belongings. Pots once filled with corn and beans were crushed, their contents scattered on the ground nearby. Homes were torn to pieces and burn to the ground. Beautiful jewelry made of colorful beads lay broken in the dirt. They had obliterated everything. There was nothing to be salvaged.

The young boy looked toward the sound of the rippling water near his ruined home. Everything seemed destroyed, but the river still flowed. It was the only thing around him that was still functioning as it should. He walked closer to it, looking down as he neared the flowing stream and frowning when he saw a black clump of feathers against the rocks at the edge of the water.

Tonto felt a lump forming in his raw throat as he looked down at the dark mess of feathers. It was his crow... His pet... His friend...

He reached his hands down into the cool water and lifted the bird up closer so he could see it better. It was indeed his friend, the crow he had grown to know and love. He had raised that bird from the time it was a baby. He had found it all alone one day, without a mother bird to look after it, so he had taken it in and kept it healthy until it grew into an adult crow. And these men had killed it too. But why? Had the crow fought with them as they brutally massacred the Comanche tribe? Tonto hoped so... He hoped his brave little bird had scratched and clawed the cruel strangers. He hoped the bird had hurt them back, if only just a little.

Still holding onto his fallen friend, Tonto allowed his eyes to scan back over the land, over the bodies and ruined homes. These men had to pay for what they had done. When he had thought they had only hurt him and stolen the horses, Tonto had been disappointed, but now what he felt was rage. They killed his entire tribe, and even his crow, and for what? He couldn't even begin to understand their motives. This was unforgivable. Justice had to be served, and it would have to be Tonto to do it. No one else had any reason to. His tribe was gone... If he didn't get justice for his friends and family, who would?

He glanced back down at his hands. There was sticky blood on his fingertips where he had been holding onto his once beautiful bird friend. Still holding onto the bird with his clean hand, Tonto raised his blackened fingers up and looked at them for a moment. The blood was dark, like charcoal and thick like paint. He placed his fingers on his cheeks and traced where his tears would have fallen if he had been able to cry any. He did the same for his other cheek.

This wasn't over. He would forever remember those men, what they looked like, what they called themselves... and what they had done to him and his tribe. The Comanche people deserved justice. The white men weren't going to carry it out, so someone had to. And that someone would have to be the lone surviving member of the tribe, Tonto. Justice would not find those men on its own. Tonto would deliver it to them, with his own vengeful hands.

_**xxxxxx xxxxxx**_

_**Thank you for reading and reviewing. This marks the end of this little tale. Of course, you know the rest, because it was demonstrated in the film. I assume you've seen it. If you haven't yet, you should go do that. **_

_**At any rate, I'd appreciate reviews to this second chapter just as I appreciated the reviews for the first. I personally try to make a habit of reviewing every story I read here... If I read it, there's got to be something I can say to its author, be that words of encouragement, a compliment, a critique... Any number of different forms of feedback could be left to brighten the author's day or help them improve their writing. We're all partners in the world of fan fiction... If I read your work, you can be sure I'd review it. I hope you'll all pay me the same favor. :) Thank you!  
**_


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